For You Blue
by Hoshi Nagaiki
Summary: "It—it's . . . her, isn't it?" Portlyn and Chad go for a little drive. Drabble-ish. Portlyn/Chad, hinted Sonny/Chad


For You Blue

By Hoshi Nagaiki

A/N: I wrote this before all of the episodes from the first season were released, and I think it was the last SWAC fic I ever wrote (besides a weird crossover between it and The Big Bang Theory I just found on my computer), and it'll probably remain that way. The title was shamelessly borrowed from a lovely song by The Beatles.

_Rated T for a nasty word or two and dirty metaphors. _

Chad Dylan Cooper claimed immunity to the "blues" that regular people often experienced. He said that he was superior to such human emotion because he was beyond human. He was Chad Dylan Cooper.

Some people saw his claims as a result of egocentrism, and others brushed it off as idiocy and/or bad parenting. Only few knew Chad's real secret: he really was the greatest actor of our generation.

Twenty four/seven he played a role that no one and everyone knew. The character's name was Chad Dylan Cooper, a vain teen heartthrob.

Then, who was the person behind the masquerade mask, the one who only existed to act? His name was also Chad Dylan Cooper, and some people might say he was a normal teenage boy with an abnormal talent for acting.

Portlyn knew better.

Chad Dylan Cooper had been her friend since they met on a kid's show when they were seven. Saying that Portlyn knew him well was like saying Hannah Montana and Miley Cyrus were merely acquaintances. She knew every hair on his body and every secret to tell except for one.

Leaning against Chad's European sports car, Portlyn watched the exit for Stage Two, casually glancing at her cell phone. In any second, Chad Dylan Cooper would push the door open, strut to his shiny red car in its secret parking lot, and meet Portlyn's recently glossed lips with his own. Her mouth curved into a dirty smirk. No one knew Chad Dylan Cooper like she did.

The door burst open just when Portlyn began to doubt their interminable schedule of security. An angry teen heartthrob darted out with an echoing slam. The car behind her beeped and she scuttled into the passenger seat. Chad inserted the key of his car, twisting it around violently. Just seeing his shaking hand gave Portlyn shivers throughout her body. She wanted to embrace him and spread his anger on herself. Instead she gazed at him blankly.

Not until his head fell to the steering wheel in desperation did Portlyn find her voice. "What's wrong, Chad?"

Chad's head remained down, and Portlyn knew that without his script or any memorized lines to fit the situation, he would have to think for a while.

He shook his blonde head, causing his hair to slightly mess up. Portlyn could have gasped at the sight. If Chad was letting his hair stray from its perfect mold, this couldn't be pretty.

Portlyn rubbed her recently manicured hand across Chad's shoulder. The only form of solace she could think to offer was physical. She leaned across the seat and attempted to pull him into a mollifying hug.

At that moment, the bothered teen star lifted his from the steering wheel and shifted away from her. His eyes, puffy and red, chastised her. "Not today, Portlyn. I'm not in the mood."

That was a first. Chad had never not been "in the mood" before, and now, thrown off guard from their script, Portlyn bit her lip. Now, she could feel her eyes shaping into the puffy, red ones that wore Chad. Turmoil rang through her body. Without Chad, she would—she would die? That seemed extreme. Without Chad, she would cry, and her perfect face would turn into a blotchy, shapeless monster. Definitely more honest.

Chad rolled his eyes at her as if he could hear the foolishness in her head. That caused the first tear to stream down her left cheek. The second fell when he spoke: "Damnit, Portlyn, why do you do this?"

"It—it's . . ._ her_, isn't it?" She stumbled and sobbed through her words. Her life slunk down a never-ending tube.

Crushed, wrecked, she didn't want to hear his reply, but it flew off his lips and bit her sharp: "One more fucking time, Portlyn."

The engine revved and pulled them away from Condor Studios. Her vision blurred, and she rubbed her eyes until all the interference cleared away. But even when she could properly see, Portlyn examined her hands, the hands that might never again caress the body she loved.

Chad drove down country roads. Faster. Faster. No one would see them.

In her sorrow, Portlyn moaned. She gripped the sides of the cars, writhing pain. Every nerve in her body flamed with tingling emotions: depression, lust, hatred, pleasure. . . .

Chad groaned. He pushed the gas pedal as far as it could go. Faster. Faster. Faster across the deserted roads. He was addicted to the speed, the satisfaction of the adrenaline rushing through him. And, Portlyn sitting next to him, her dark tresses flowed about in the wind. However, he didn't want Portlyn, not one bit. Chad released the pedal and the car glided across the road. The two teen stars panted and caught their breath.

"This is the last time, isn't it?" Portlyn leaned her head against the seat, gasping, and wondered why she had asked. She already knew the answer.

The car halted, and when he didn't answer, she got out and left.

A/N: The metaphor that takes up most of the story is the only reason I posted this. If you know what I'm talking about, tell me in a review, and I'll be sure to send you some virtual cookies. :D


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